The Fallen Woman (A Regency Romance) (23 page)

“Yes?”

“Are you awake?”

“How else would be replying to you, silly girl?”

“Oh… right… well… you might talk in your sleep. How would I know?”

“If I do, I’m not aware of it.” He rolled on his side, facing her direction. What he did next surprised her, and would likely keep her awake for the next several hours. He reached out and started stroking her hair. “Is there something else bothering you?”

“Well…” Of course, there were many things bothering her. Did he care about her? Could he ever love her? Did he have feelings for her? How did he really feel about everything she told him? Did he think she was impure? “I… was just thinking about my father.”

“What about him?”

“I know he hated me when I left, but nevertheless… I’m a little surprised he hasn’t tried contacting me at all,” she said. “It hurts. I would have never thought my father cared so little of me that he’d hold one mistake against me for the rest of my life. I guess he really
has
washed his hands of me.”

Tristan’s hand continued to toil in Leona’s hair. “Your father is a stupid man, and he isn’t worth your worries. You’re better off with me.”

“I know I am,” she answered resolutely. “I have no doubt of that. Still, I spent twenty two years of my life with him. You would think he’d care about me just a little.”

“At least you don’t have to waste anymore time with him.” Tristan retracted his hand from her hair and stuffed it beneath his pillow, propping up his head. It was starting to appear as though they weren’t going to do much sleeping at all. “You know, when someone tells you how little time you have left, you’d be amazed at how differently you see things. Everything feels like a waste of time.”

“
Everything
…?”

“No, not everything. Spending time with you certainly isn’t a waste of time. My time with you has been the best time I’ve ever spent,” he corrected himself. “But… sleeping? Have you ever thought about what a colossal waste of time it is?”

Leona could think of something she would rather do than sleep, but it made her blush to think about it. “Well, I… I suppose there are some things you could do
during
sleep that would make the time more worthwhile.”

“Such as?”

“You could have a nice dream,” she wistfully suggested. “Or… you could wrap your arms around me.”

“You’re right. That does sound like a nice idea.” Tristan closed the gap between them and curled an arm around her waist. “How is that?”

“Nice,” she answered, closing her eyes.

Tristan bent his head closer to hers and kissed Leona’s forehead. “I am happy to have you in my life, Leona,” he whispered.

“In spite of everything?” she whispered. “I… I would have thought… after everything… you might start wishing you’d married someone else.”

“Perish those thoughts. I’m happy to have
you
in my life. No one else.” He gave her a little squeeze.” Because of you, I
can
have nice dreams.”

Chapter Twenty Seven

Leona nearly fell face-first into a puddle as she hopped down from the carriage. In fact, she most certainly
would
have toppled into the water if Tristan hadn’t been there to grab her around the waist. He grabbed her and swung her out of harm’s way, placing her feet on drier ground.

“Thank you, Tristan,” she said with a smile. “You saved my new boots from certain death.”

“I always knew I had a heroic streak in me.” He extended an elbow toward her and took her by the arm. “Look, you can see the church from here… beyond those buildings.” He pointed to the staggering ivory spires peeking above the foreground. “The York Minster.”

“It’s enormous!”

“I think it might be even larger than the cathedral in Canterbury.” As he spoke, he hauled her off her feet and lifted her over another puddle. “Too bad the weather’s so dreary.”

“At least it’s not raining right now. Oh…” As if summoned by her hopeful words, a large droplet of water fell on her nose. “On second thought…”

“Every time you and I are together, it seems to rain. Should we be worried about that?” he asked with a chuckle. “You don’t think it’s some sort of ominous sign, do you?”

“I think it’s just bad luck.”

They stood in front of the cathedral in York, admiring its grandeur. “I feel insignificant, standing in front of a place like this. But… I suppose I’m no more insignificant than the next man.”

“You’re very significant to me!” Leona exclaimed, giving him a playful nudge. Her eyes were wide as she stood in the shadow of the cathedral. “I think it’s as big as a mountain!”

A few more raindrops fell on his head, so he handed Leona her parasol. “Let’s move along, shall we? I think the weather is intent on ruining our sightseeing,” he said, leading her away from the cathedral.

“I could stay here all day, rain or not. I think York’s a beautiful place!” she exclaimed. “Not to mention, we don’t have Andrew buzzing around us.”

“I think you’re the first woman who’s ever preferred my company over his,” Tristan said. “You do, don’t you? Prefer my company to his?”

“Of course I do!” She brought her parasol down on him, giving him a gentle knock on the head. “Do you really have to ask such a question?”

As their exploration of the city continued, they turned onto a medieval street with cobbled roads and half-timbered buildings. She could practically smell the musk of a bygone age as they strolled through The Shambles. She could practically hear the bustle of townspeople, crowding around the narrow streets.

A slow carriage trundled toward them on the road, halting their progress. As they stepped aside to let it pass, the delay gave Tristan a moment to remember where he wanted to take her. “Ah… over there!” He directed her gaze to a shop at the other end of the road. “Do you see that sweet shop over there? I’m surprised it’s still there. I used to go there when I was a boy.” He took Leona’s hand and led her in the direction of the small shop, where they stopped to admire the arrangement of sugary confections in the display window.

When they stepped inside, Leona found herself wanting to sample a bit of everything. From the apricot creams to the iced bonbons, each sweet looked better than the next. By the time she was done demanding a taste of everything, Tristan’s pockets were noticeably lighter.

Leona rolled a hand over her stomach. Having indulged in so many sweets, she worried her stomach might be bulging more than usual. “Do you think I… overdid it?” she asked.

“No,” he answered with a chuckle. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. That is… I would assume you’re enjoying yourself.” He looked over at her, eyebrow raised. “Are you?”

“Of course I am! But I think I’d enjoy anything with you, Tristan!”

“Anything?”

She nodded.

“Dancing in the puddles?”

She nodded again.

“Rolling around in the mud?”

After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded again.

He reached over to give her cheek a little pinch. “You’re a silly little thing, aren’t you?”

She answered his question with another nod and fell into a fit of giggles.

Tristan drew a deep breath and wrapped an arm around her back. “Quick… let’s go over here.”

Her giggles stopped almost instantly. “What? Is something wrong?”

“I’m feeling a bit winded all of a sudden,” he confessed. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about… I’m sure the weather has something to do with it. Although…”

Leona shrieked. “What?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I just remember feeling a similar sensation before I fainted at a party in London. Here… let’s go sit on the bench over there.”

Leona was feeling a strange sensation herself—as though her heart was being pulled through her throat. She looked at him with tears in her eyes, terrified for his health. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so concerned with someone besides herself.

“Don’t look at me like that!” he said with a chuckle. “Don’t look so worried, Leona. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

She sat with him on the bench and took his hand. “How could I not be worried? I… I care about you.” Care about him?
Love
was a more accurate description of her feelings, but she didn’t know how much she was ready to confess. “Are you feeling alright now?”

“I’m still a bit… short of breath,” he admitted. “But I get like this a lot.”

Her brows pinched together. “Tristan…” she whispered his name. “Do you think you’re going to… die?”

“I don’t plan on it!” he exclaimed. “Not at the moment, at least!”

“Please don’t make jokes like that!” she whimpered. “I don’t think you realize how much your condition terrifies me! I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you! I’ve come to rely on you so much in the last month or so... I don’t think I could stand it if you weren’t in my life anymore.”

Gently, Tristan brushed a finger across her cheek. “As morbid as it might sound, I… I’m glad to have someone in my life who worries about me. Even if my life ends soon, at least I’ve been able to experience that.”

“Well, I’m sure I’m not the only one concerned about you! Andrew worries about you, too! And everyone who works for you…I’m sure they’d be lost without you.” Leona sighed. She hoped it didn’t sound like she was trying to downplay how much she truly needed him. Certainly there were other people who cared about him, but she was even more certain that none of their feelings for Tristan came close to what
she
felt for him. He was her only source of comfort—her only happiness in a world that turned its back on her.

“Please… let’s not talk about anything depressing. I think our conversation should move to a more uplifting topic.”

“Like what?” Leona asked, popping a lemon drop into her mouth. The sudden burst of sour-sweetness made her flinch.

“I don’t think it’s too soon to discuss what name we should give to the next Viscount Randall, do you?” he asked. “I’ve always been particular to the name Philip. Or Arthur.”

Leona’s jaw dropped, and the lemon drop on her tongue nearly fell out. “Names… what?! You don’t mean…”

“Your baby, Leona.”

“
That’s
your uplifting topic? I… I still feel too embarrassed to even… speak of it. It’s… it’s not uplifting to me. It’s a topic that’s always caused me a great deal of distress!”

“Maybe you should try to see your situation in a more positive light. A child is a miracle.”
“Wait… but…” Leona stirred on the bench. “Did you just say something about the
next
Viscount Randall?”

Tristan nodded. “Of course! Naturally, our son will inherit my title,” he said. “That is to say… as far as the world’s concerned, he
will
be my child. Unless you have any objections?”

“No!” she nearly shouted.

“I haven’t repeated to anyone what you told me… the reason behind your father sending you away. And I don’t plan on it.” When he saw the terrified look on Leona’s face, Tristan chuckled. “You don’t have to look so worried, Leona! I’ve fully accepted the fact that you’re with child. No… I’m
happy
about it.” He reached over to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re providing me with a family I never thought I’d have a chance to have.”

“You really feel that way?”
“Of course.”

“Then… how do you feel about the name David?”

“I think it’s a fine name.”

“Good.” Leona leaned over to rest her head on his shoulder, but as soon as she did, Tristan rose from the bench and looked off in the direction of the cathedral.

“We should probably head back to my aunt’s cottage,” he said, offering Leona a hand.

With tears in her eyes, she took his proffered hand and rose to her feet. She thought his reaction to her closeness was proof that he wasn’t completely tolerant of her situation. Leona could tell he cared about her, but she knew he was hiding something—an unspoken suffering. Regardless of how kind and accepting he had been, she knew her deception was eating him inside. Could he really be that happy about raising another man’s baby? Tristan might have been the kindest person she’d ever known, but he wasn’t a saint. She wouldn’t blame him if he resented her.

If he did resent her, Leona knew she would spend the rest of her life resenting herself.

Chapter Twenty Eight

“Not only does he break vases…” Aunt Bess said with a sigh, “but he also has horrible table manners.”

She was referring to Andrew, who was busily stuffing a slice of beef, a large slice of potato, and a few beans in his mouth. He chewed them all at once, as quickly as he could. Another slice of roast was hanging at the end of his fork, eagerly waiting for his mouth to swallow so he could eat some more.

“He’s… not usually like that,” Tristan defended his friend. He looked over at his wife, whose wide eyes were intent on watching Andrew shovel food into his face. He was unaware, or perhaps not caring, that he was the topic of conversation.

“Is your friend really a gentleman? He doesn’t act like it most of the time,” Bess added haughtily. “He chases after women, he breaks priceless valuables, he acts like a boor at supper, and he courts maids!”